


Watercolors

by martyrpipedreams



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andrew Minyard Loves Neil Josten, Fluff, I tag like a four year old eats crayons, M/M, Neil is insufferable but aren't we all, You can't, drunk!neil, prove me wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:53:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28091961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martyrpipedreams/pseuds/martyrpipedreams
Summary: I wrote this solely because I was getting too invested in the Band AU multi-chapter story I'm trying to write. I ask God to help me but he smites my soul instead.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 4
Kudos: 94





	Watercolors

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this solely because I was getting too invested in the Band AU multi-chapter story I'm trying to write. I ask God to help me but he smites my soul instead.

Andrew Minyard is a painting. 

The expanse of his back is a canvas and the lines of muscle are the trails left behind by dripping watercolors. Neil wants to reach out and let his finger brush against every streak of muted grey or black, maybe if he is lucky he'll one day become a splash or orange or blue against the monochromatic landscape.

The edges of Andrew's painting rip but he stitches them together as quickly as the tears come and Neil watches. He wonders how torn his canvas is. 

There are many times that Neil has found himself in awe of Andrew:

1.

They've just woken up and Neil pries his tired eyes open to stare at his favorite painting. Andrew is already awake, sitting quietly as he pulls his armbands on. The faint ridges of Andrew's spine as he sits at the edge of the bed enrapture Neil. He wants to run his fingers along the bumps, to see what color is underneath the grey. His blond hair falls in his face, tangled from Neil's hands the night before and the sun from their bedroom window makes him glow golden.

Monster, people call Andrew Minyard. Neil thinks he might just be the furthest thing from it. Andrew is not the monster beneath anyone's bed because he knows the fear of having one too many above it. 

"You're staring," Andrew says as he turns to look at Neil. His expression is soft from sleep and Neil can't help the curl of his lips as he offers a lazy hand to the blond.

"You like it." Andrew knocks his hand away and Neil laughs.

2.

They're sitting in the living room. Neil, Nicky, Kevin, and Andrew. Kevin sits at his desk and Nicky sits curled onto the couch, both of them watching Exy. Andrew is next to Neil in one of the beanbags. He is not paying attention to the pictures on the TV and is instead burying a spoon into a carton of ice cream with a vicious hunger. 

Neil is not watching Exy either, though it may come as a surprise. Andrew holds his attention greedily, even if he is not aware. 

Neil watches his lips close around the curve of his spoon and it's such a wonderful knowledge that later he will pull Andrew aside and mumble yes or no before he too can taste the ice cream that flavors his lips chocolate. 

Andrew hums, a deep sound in the back of his throat as he preoccupies himself with finishing his treat. He doesn't notice the way Neil's eyes flood with an emotion he would probably gag at. 

Quietly, silently, he thanks those lips for telling him who he is. 

3.

Neil is drunk. His head is drowning in whiskey and his tongue feels like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth. 

He did not mean to get drunk but the night had been young and for once he wanted to let loose. 

Andrew is beside him, arm clasped around Neil as the drunk slouches against his shoulder. He says something and Neil smiles, knowing it's an insult. They rest perched on the hood of the Maserati. 

"You're an idiot, Josten." 

"Mm." He doesn't argue because he knows it's true. "You're amazing." 

Andrew glares at him from the corner of his eye and puts two cigarettes between his lips, lighting both. He offers one to Neil and says: "The last time you said that you ended up in the hospital." 

Neil must feel particularly brave because he grins. "I've got you this time. You'll keep me safe. I'll live."

"Not if I don't kill you first."

"I'd let you, if you really wanted. I don't think I'd be able to run while I'm drunk."

Andrew raises an eyebrow. "Oh, so he's aware? Is Josten finally taking the blame for his actions?"

"Never. It's your fault." He lies back against the hood of the car. "I'm your problem now. You've gotta take the blame." 

Andrew doesn't say anything, just shakes his head and takes a drag from his cigarette as Neil watches him, smoke drifting in front of his own face. 

Neil is confused for a moment, watching Andrew against a backdrop of the pink and blue of the setting sun. Andrew is a painting. But he is also many things. 

He is the watercolors of his back, yes, but he is also golden and green. He's the scars on his wrist, the testament of his survival. He's the monster that protects his own from the things that go bump in the night. He's the tub of ice cream sitting in the freezer at the dorms, waiting to be eaten in one sitting. He's the key in Neil's pocket, small but heavy in more ways than weight. 

Neil breathes, the air that enters his chest feels heavy and thick. "Andrew." The blond looks at him, eyebrow raised. Neil sits up and smiles, auburn hair falling in front of his face. "Andrew." 

"Are you going to say what you want to say or are you going to keep saying my name?"

Neil pauses, opens his mouth to speak, shuts it, and then shakes his head. "No. I don't think I can. Yes or no." 

"You're drunk." 

"I don't care, yes or no?" Andrew glares and it's icy against Neil's skin but he can't seem to find the rationale to care. 

"Yes." 

Neil's smile grows and he leans toward Andrew, fingers curling in the hair at the back of his head. He doesn't kiss him, though a part of him wants to. He simply presses his forehead against Andrew's and breathes, blue eyes looking to meet hazel. 

"What are you doing, junkie," Andrew questions, his voice quiet. 

"Nothing. Always nothing." Neil thinks he sees Andrew roll his eyes but the blond doesn't pull away so Neil can't complain. Not that he would. 

He presses a kiss against the bridge of Andrew's nose and the monster makes a face. Neil places another against his cheek and he thinks Andrew might punch him. One against the corner of the mouth, not teasing but inviting.

Andrew lets him, even if he is watching Neil with a glare that spells death. Later Neil will write this off as being drunk as to avoid Andrew's ire. 

He places another against Andrew's jaw, his lips curling into a smile against his fair skin. 

"Still yes?" Neil asks not because he's insufferable but because Andrew's hands are balled into fists as his side. 

"If it was no I would have stabbed you by now." It's a fair point.

Neil's lips travel. Over Andrew's jaw, his neck, his collarbones, but never to his lips. The kisses are chaste, quick and soft unlike the bruising kisses they normally share. Somewhere between Andrew's neck and the dip of his collarbone his fingers found their way beneath the folds of Neil's shirt, palms pressed flat against his scarred stomach. Neil hums and lets his finger-tips brush over Andrew's arm's. 

He relishes in the way he hisses and catches Neil's hand, brings it to his lips and presses a hard kiss into his palm. Neil will write that off as being drunk too.

"I didn't know you were capable of romantic acts of affection," Neil teases, sitting up straight and curling his fingers around the hand that holds his. "Careful or you might ruin your reputation." 

"No one's around." Andrew challenges Neil to say another word with a narrow eyed glare. "And no one would believe you even if you swore it on your life. You've nearly lost it too many times for that to be a promise of any value."

Neil hums in acknowledgement and leans toward Andrew with a lopsided smile. "I'm going to kiss you now. Yes or no?" 

"Fucking junkie," Andrew curses, shaking his head. Neil may just be drunk but he thinks Andrew might be on the verge of smiling. "Yes." 

"Good."

And so Neil kisses him and he does it gently, nose pressed against Andrew's cheek as he breathes him in. 

He doesn't smell like a painting: no watercolors or acrylics or even the rubber of an eraser. He just smells like cigarettes and tastes like smoke and the last sweet he ate. Neil grins and Andrew sighs exasperatedly against his lips, still not pulling away when Neil lets his finger-tips rest lightly, barely touching, at the curve of his jaw. 

"You're amazing," Neil says once more and for a moment he doesn't feel as drunk, his thoughts are clear and sharp. His legs are not stuck in a swampy muddled mess of undocumented emotions. He pulls back briefly, letting his eyes dance across Andrew's face and hungrily draw in all his features like he's the God of his Neil's own scripture. Then he dives back in, head first, for another kiss.

Andrew does not pull away.


End file.
